


Salaco

by Chandanista



Series: Hibernis Milite [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Playgrounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chandanista/pseuds/Chandanista
Summary: Draco lives up to Lucius's expectations, James decides to rectify the problem.
Series: Hibernis Milite [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1526771
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

It had been months since Yule, with one grey, foggy day leading into another. Much like the tutors who broke the tedium of winter afternoons, an occasional sprinkle of rain broke up the monotonous weather. Draco would have preferred a bit of sun; perhaps Mother would allow him on a broom, if visibility improved. He peered hopefully at the window across the room from the breakfast table, then sighed. He did not have the gift of Sight, but it was obvious a sunny afternoon was not in today’s agenda.

“Will you be at the ministry today, Lucius?” Mother asked.

“I have a meeting with the minister over luncheon. Did you need me home by a certain time?”

“No dear, I just wanted to be certain Draco and I were free this afternoon. We’ll be having guests for a mid-afternoon tea. You are welcome to join, of course, if you’ll be home at half three.”

“May I ask whom?”

“Lady Longbottom and her grandson, Neville. He’s the same age as Draco, and as desperate to get out of their manor as our son is to leave ours.”

Father’s pale brows rose away from his eyes in surprise. “When did you befriend Augusta Longbottom?”

Mother waved a delicate hand. “Oh, we met in Hogsmeade whilst shopping last weekend. We commiserated about the weather and after comparing the boys’ attitudes towards this season, it seemed sensible to have the two meet up.”

“Sensible? I must say, I am surprised Augusta’s response was to allow Neville around Draco, with the history of your sister-"

“Lucius!”

Draco peeked at his parents as they looked quickly at him and then back to their breakfasts. Mother finally broke the stiff silence. “It will be nice for Draco to make a friend of similar status.”

“Mmm,” Father hummed noncommittally.

***

“Draco, a minute, please,” Father said. He was standing in the doorway of Draco’s sitting room. Draco happily pushed aside the writing assignment he’d been working on and gave Father his full attention.

Lucius Malfoy strode across the room and gracefully seated himself on the central furniture, a loveseat with a commanding presence made all the more dominant with the lord’s presence. “Your guest this afternoon, the Longbottom boy. He comes from a pureblood line, and he is the heir of that line. Just as you are the heir of ours.”

Draco nodded. He was excited, actually, to meet this boy of equal social status. In the past he’d always been steps above his playmates, Vincent and Gregory obediently following him through every plan he orchestrated, and he’d decided it was tiring to be the sole leader. Sharing creative responsibility and, when things soured, sharing the blame, sounded like a delightful change of pace.

“The difference between you both is your breeding, as with everyone in life. The boy’s parents were pureblooded, but they were weak, and I expect he is likewise. Your parents are strong, and you have shown yourself to have a strong nature as well. I expect you to maintain the nobility of the Malfoy name, and to ensure the Longbottom boy sees it as well. When you are both in Hogwarts he will recall this day. He will recall his first impression of you. He will either lead you or follow, depending on the path you have placed before him. I expect you to lead. Do you understand?”

Draco nodded, feeling as though he mostly understood but…was also missing something. “Father, how could his parents be weak? If they were purebloods, they should be strong.”

“They stood against the Dark Lord, and I believe that was their downfall. During the war they fell to a simple spell your aunt Bellatrix cast. They are still alive but have yet to recover. Anyone of proper strength would not have allowed themselves to fall in the first place,” Father sneered. “The Dark Lord himself cast the same spell at me, at _all_ his followers, and yet I am unbroken.”

Nodding his head, Draco agreed to take a position of leadership with the Longbottom boy in the same way he lead his other friends. As Father swept out of the room Draco felt only a small flicker of regret at the loss of potential partnership. It wasn’t like Longbottom would have ever been worthy of it, after all.

***

“What was _that_?” Barnes demanded that evening, shortly after the Longbottoms had flooed away.

“What was what?” Draco asked, attempting to put boredom into his tone but only achieving a certain bitterness. The play date had not gone well. It had not gone well at all. As Father had predicted, Longbottom had shown a character that was deferentially weak, with the added bonuses of a fat body to match his fat head. This was a child of equal status to Draco, a future lord? Pathetic.

“You were a bully, and you know it.”

“Tosh. It’s not my fault he was so weak. He should have made me stop. He must have liked being bossed around.”

“You were not bossy, you were cruel.”

“He was weak, Barnes! If he’s going to be a friend to a Malfoy he needs to get a spine!” 

“So instead of helping him build himself up, you cut down what little he had? Well done, Draco. Someone would think you want to be alone in your life,” Barnes huffed.

“You don’t understand! I have responsibilities to my name, and if I have a friend they have to prove they will be an asset to the Malfoy status!” Draco almost shouted, blinking back tears. He didn’t know why he felt so disappointed, but it was there, coiled in his chest and oozing darkness.

Barnes’ face had gone to stone and his posture, stiff. He took several deep breaths before calmly asking, “Is that what you think a friend is? Someone who is useful, who will build up your status without you doing any work in return? A possession to be discarded when you’re done with it, an… _asset?”_ The last word was hissed with an emotion Draco could not name. He opened his mouth, realized he had no words and just nodded. 

“Right then,” Barnes turned on his heel and prowled swiftly down the hallway to his rooms, where the sound of the shutting door was as loud as a slam in Draco’s ears.

Draco felt miserable, and he didn’t know why.

***

James strode confidently across the green, which was actually rather yellow, towards the playpark. He’d had to push, manipulate and flatter Narcissa Malfoy in turn to get her to make them a reusable portkey to a Muggle park, but it would be worth it. Draco needed to interact with children he considered below him, and he needed to do it in a place where they would all hold common ground, or the boy would be a holy terror as well as a social outcast by his teen years.

“Where are we, Barnes?” Draco puffed beside him. James slowed his pace slightly.

“Northern Surrey.”

“And why are we in northern Surrey?”

“It’s the place your mother selected when I presented defensible options,” James replied. Draco shot him an unimpressed look.

“You know I don’t mean ‘why was this Muggle hole chosen out of all the places in the world’.”

James shrugged, secretly enjoying boy’s indignation. “I guess you should be more specific.”

Draco huffed, “What is the purpose of the expedition?”

“We’ll be coming here weekly. You will learn to interact with the other children. You will be pleasant and you won't force the children you follow you. They will choose to play with you, or not. You will stand on your own feet as an equal.”

Draco had come to a total stop, his eyes widening and a horrified look on his face. “You…you expect me…the Malfoy heir…to play with muggles on muggle equipment like some… common _mudblood?”_

“No. I expect you, a nine year old child, to play with other children similar in age like some human. I expect you to show them courtesy by right of their being a person. Put your nose down and use your eyes and your ears. I expect you’ll have fun pretending you’re someone else.”

A silence followed while Draco turned all this around in his mind. He watched the children on the playpark. James watched too. Some shouted and yelled in what appeared to be a game of tag that somehow required the merry go round. Another group, led by a fat child who resembled a pig on its hind legs, seemed to be menacing a boy backed up against a bench. The swings were empty. 

“Cheers,” Draco muttered sarcastically, and strode forward with a false confidence.

James rolled his eyes as the boy approached the bully squad. Of course Draco would still attempt to assert his dominance, it was all he knew. Well, he’d make sure they didn’t truly hurt his ward, and perhaps Draco would learn something from his choices.

***

“Excuse me gents, but I must insist you find another bench. This one’s mine.”

The piggy boy turned as quickly as his bulk allowed, to squint at the tiny blonde that had approached seemingly from nowhere. He still held the shirt of his prey in his hands, a slight figured boy with glasses and bulky clothes. 

“We’re using this spot right now, so shove off,” another of the group, hard eyed and ratlike, seemed to be the quickest thinker. Pathetic.

“Rubbish. I must insist you take your filthy selves to another section of the park this minute.”

“Are…are you taking the Mickey? There’s three of us, and one of you, you know.”

“No, there’s three of you and two of us, and my uncle is over there.”

“Two of you? What, you and that posh accent count as two?”

“No, this boy you are harassing and I count as two. Shove off or I’ll throw a wobbly and tell my uncle you hurt me, see if I don’t.” Draco raised his chin defiantly. Barnes had told him to keep his nose down, but this group of wankers reminded him of Vincent and Gregory, and asserting himself to remind them he was better always brought them into line.

The three bullies looked to the aforementioned uncle, a larger man whose denims and jacket didn’t hide his hard build. Piggy released the shirt he held and Glasses stumbled over to Draco’s side. 

“Don’t think you’ll get away with this in the future, blondey,” Rat-boy said. Draco dismissed him with a shrug and began walking to the swings.

“Hey,” Piggy called out, “I thought you wanted the bench!”

“Ridiculous,” Draco sneered back, “what would I want with a bench? It’s stood still, while the swings are the closest thing to flying you lot will ever feel.” He marched over to a swing and sat in it, his raggedy shadow hesitating but ultimately following to the second swing. 

“Thank you,” the boy whispered.

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me. There’s no way I could have enjoyed this simple kinetic motion with the sight of them punching you in my radius,” Draco blustered. After a minute, as they passed on a downswing, he muttered, “You’re welcome.”

The two swung in silence until Barnes stepped over. “Dray, it’s time to go. Your mother insisted I have you home on time for violin lessons.”

Draco slowed and leapt out of the swing, turning to his silent companion. “Same time next week?”

“I’ll…I’ll try. If my chores are done I should be here.”

Draco nodded. “Don’t die in the meantime.”

***

“Did you get his name?” James asked, as they walked to the foliage that would cover their portkey disappearance.

“No. He didn’t offer it, and why would I ask for a muggle’s name?”

“It’ll be awkward if you keep meeting up without names. Maybe you should introduce yourself first.”

Draco shrugged. As Barnes took the leather glove out of his pocket, he added, “I’m proud of you for standing up to those bullies.”

“It was nothing,” Draco sniffed. “Malfoys are--”

“Malfoys nothing. That was all you, and you did well.” James touched the glove fingers in the pattern Narcissa had taught him, and in a moment they were stood on the rolling lawn of Malfoy Manor. 

James watched Draco trudge to the house, his mind filled with another blonde boy stopping bullies and using James, a much younger James, as backup.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, there was a bit more bullying to be found so I added to this section instead of posting it separately.
> 
> When I picture Harry Potter's scar, I do not picture a rune-shape on the far side. I picture a proper lightning strike branching out across the forehead. So that's what Harry has in this tale.

Harry stared at the underside of the stairs, the single naked bulb throwing familiar shadows throughout the cupboard. A spider spun under the middle step. His thoughts were, yet again, turned to Dray. He didn’t actually know the boy’s name, he’d only heard the uncle refer to him as Dray, which he thought was most likely to be short for Andre or Andreas. It was evident the boy and his uncle didn’t live on Privet Drive, even if Harry knew all the neighbors by sight. Which he didn’t. The boy’s toff breeding was pronounced, his trousers and shirts put shame to Dudley’s by simply existing. He didn’t appear to enjoy the company of other children, seeming not entirely sure how to handle them. 

Tomorrow was Monday. He wondered if Dray would hold true to the previous week’s promise and appear at the park. Harry had been going himself every day, sitting out of the way and watching the other children, but had yet to see the blonde or his uncle. He wondered if Dray would return and keep Dudley’s gang away again, or decide to join them. Or if he simply wouldn’t come back, having found a better playpark in a posher neighborhood with nicer kids.

Harry finally slipped into sleep, dreaming he was on the swings again. At some point in the dream, Dray leapt off the swing and floated into the sky. Dream-Harry leapt after him. They didn’t fall. 

***

When Petunia Dursley had realized completed chores meant Harry would be gone the remainder of the day, she showed her approval by reducing the boy’s responsibilities. Oh, he still had to clean the kitchen and vacuum, she wasn’t running a charity after all. But the time consuming outdoor chores were partially removed from his list. She didn’t actually mind tending her own garden. It established a proper excuse to watch Mrs. Next Door and her suspiciously handsome visitor when Mr. Next Door was at the office. Petunia preferred to keep the boy at work and not underfoot, but if she had the alternative option resulting in his staying away altogether for hours, well… Yes, please! 

She didn’t know where he was going all afternoon but he didn’t seem to get into trouble; no one had dragged him home by the ear, no phone calls from neighbors accused him of thieving, and Dudley was thriving under her personal attention. Really, the less she knew, the better; for a few precious hours she could pretend the freak didn’t exist.

***

“What is that, Barnes?” Draco asked.

“All those fancy tutors and you don’t know what a basket is?” 

“Of course I know what it is. What is it doing on your arm?”

“Um. Being carried?” Barnes’ voice was a bit incredulous, turning the obvious answer into a question. Draco rolled his eyes as the man continued. “Unless you know a better way to carry a basket. Besides floating it along, of course. We muggles don’t tend to have inanimate objects orbiting us.”

Draco huffed. “And why are we bringing a basket of…of what, exactly? On this expedition?”

“It’s food, and it’s called a picnic. You may have read about them at some point. Food, grass, ants and sunshine…?”

“We aren’t going to be there that long, are we?” Draco’s eyes were a bit wild, a horrified note in his voice as he took a step away from the madman who was supposed to protect him, but was instead forcing him to endure muggles for Merlin-knew how long. Through a mealtime, apparently.

“Don’t flip your wig. Anytime is a good time for a picnic, and the object of the exercise is to interact with others. Share a snack with your new friend if he’s there. He was pretty skinny last week. Oh, wait!” Barnes handed Draco the basket abruptly and spun away. 

Draco peeked into the basket. Water biscuits, a brown paste in a jar, boiled eggs, some cheese, and bottles that appeared to have pink lemonade. It was definitely a snack and not a meal. He sighed in relief. 

“Here we are. Let’s go.”

“What is that?” Draco pointed at the checkered quaffle-sized ball tucked under Barnes’ goblin arm.

“It’s a ball, kid. I know you haven’t been to school but seriously, you need to keep up.”

“Argh!”

***  
“Feet only, Dray! No hands!”

“But how am I supposed to maneuver? I’m running, not kicking! This is utterly ridiculous!” 

Barnes danced around Draco, the ball maneuvering around his moving feet. Draco stayed on the grass where he’d fallen, his arms folded and a scowl on his face. How a muggle could keep control of a non-enchanted item while keeping their own balance was beyond him. Why they would invent such a stupid pastime was inconceivable. 

“Come on, hop up. You’ll never get it if you don’t try. And wipe that look before it freezes your face.”

“Hop up, he says. I believe I am mortally wounded and he wants me to hop up.” Draco groaned theatrically as he rose to his feet.

“Melodramatic punk.”

“Bullying berk!”

The two traded insults as they danced around the football. As Draco triumphantly managed to bounce the ball from his left instep to his right while moving forward, he noticed a small, dark figure to one side. The ragged boy from the previous week at arrived.

“Hello!” Barnes called out. “Want to practice with us?”

“I…I don’t actually play football.”

“That’s fine; as you can see, he doesn’t either.”

“Hey!”

The boy ducked his head and shuffled forward as Barnes stepped away. Draco tried to dredge up a sneer because, seriously, he knew he was superior to this muggle boy. No use; he was feeling too triumphant in his newfound domination over muggle sports equipment.

“See if you can keep up,” he said instead, and pressed forward with the ball between his feet, hoping he wouldn’t fall arse over teakettle again.

***  
The texture was odd. Draco tried to move the water biscuit around in his mouth, the brown paste stuck to his teeth. He had less control over the mouthful of food than he’d had over the football. 

Barnes laughed at the look on the two boys’ faces. “What, you haven’t had peanut butter on crackers before?”

“Crackers?” Draco tried to ask, but the infernal goop restricted the word.

“This is a common American snack, I’ll have you know. I didn’t make it up to torment you,” Barnes continued, as he downed another and followed with a swig of lemonade direct from the bottle. 

“I kind of like it,” the other boy said shyly, and ducked his head. Barnes beamed.

“There we go! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re all right, kid. What’s your name anyhow?”

“Harry. My name’s Harry.”

“James. And this is Drake.” Barnes shook Harry’s hand and then looked at Draco, who reluctantly put his own limb forward to be shaken by—hang on, had he said his name was Harry? How common was that name? He certainly didn’t know anyone who had it, except… Draco looked, actually _looked,_ at the boy’s face. Sure enough, a bit of scarred lightning peeked from under the black mop of hair. He gasped. 

“Harry? As in, _Harry Potter?_ Why in the hells didn’t you say so?”

Harry backed up rapidly from the suddenly animated blonde. “What…how did you know my last name? Why would I have said so? We-huh?” 

“They said you were living with muggles but I never guessed, never assumed—and look at you, those clothes are atrocious, is that a muggle thing? Do they make a conscious effort to wear misfit clothes? That cousin from last week, the piggy slug. That’s seriously who you live with? How have you not killed him yet? And chores! The muggles seriously make you work round the house, like some sort of house elf? Ridiculous.” Draco stopped his pink faced tirade with a gasp. 

Barnes had Draco by the shoulders and pulled him back, he’d been subconsciously moving towards Harry as Harry had backed away into the grass. “Draco! Deep breath. Calm down kid!” As Draco struggled to contain himself Barnes turned to Harry. 

“Sorry about that. He’s overly excitable, is all. Your story shaped his world a bit, you could say.”

“My…story?” Harry asked, dazed. “What are you talking about?”

Draco bounced up again. “You don’t know? It happened to you and you’re saying you don’t even know? What are those monster muggles even teaching you?”

“As little as possible, I’d assume. What’s this story I don’t know? And what is a muggle?” 

***  
“And he didn’t know, father! Harry Potter didn’t even know about the wizard world, or the Dark Lord. The muggles said his parents died in an auto accident, Merlin’s sake!”

“That’s quite the tale, Draco,” Lucius said. Though his words were calm, unruffled, his body was stiff and his eyes narrow. Draco stilled when he noticed his father’s lack of enthusiasm. The next words were soft and dangerous. “And how, pray tell, did you meet the so-called Savior of the Wizarding world?” 

“The…the playpark, sir. He and I …we played muggle football.”

“Playpark? What…playpark?” His voice was cold, and quiet. Dangerous. His hand gripped the top of his cane with white-knuckled anger.

Draco felt sick. He hadn’t thought. He’d been so excited to meet Potter and he hadn’t _thought._ Of course his father was upset over muggle adventures; there was no way Barnes could have gotten permission from Lucius for such activity any more than he could have gotten permission for a trip to Africa to play with gorillas. 

“I took him,” Barnes said quietly, from the dining room corner. Mother opened her mouth, but Barnes continued speaking. “I thought it would do him good to get some air and exercise.”

***  
“We have air and exercise here, _Barnes._ These are not muggle inventions.”

“Of course. My thought though, was…”

“Your thought? YOUR THOUGHT? It was dangerous! Do you know what those muggles could have done?” Lucius spat the word “muggle” as though simply forming it left a disgusting taste, and his facial expression matched the spoken word. He’d risen to his feet and stepped menacingly forward.

“He wasn’t in any danger,” James insisted, taking a step back. His back was straight but his head ducked slightly. He forced his fists to relax.

“You knowingly took him to a muggle neighborhood, encouraged my son to interact with that filth, how many times!”

“Best way for the kid to learn to diffuse a situation with words is hands-on experience.”

“He is a Malfoy! He is entitled to respect for his name! He is better than the lower life forms that should thank him when he deigns to show any attention at all! He is my SON! You are an employee, not a parent—this was NOT YOUR CALL. I cannot let this insubordination stand— _crucio!”_

James fell to his knees as a wave of pain ripped through him. He screamed as his mind scattered. It had been months since he’d been in The Chair, but the pain immediately recalled that rite. Memories streamed together; some burned away in a torrent of white. Others twisted, the majority hid themselves away. 

“Lucius!” Narcissa’s voice ripped through the pain which, suddenly, ceased. James panted on the carpet. He felt sick. He felt…lost.

“You will return to your room. Tomorrow you will continue guarding the manor and Draco. Should this situation repeat itself you will be dismissed. And may I remind you, you do not have anywhere to turn. Do you understand?”

“I…I will comply,” James murmured, struggling to hold to himself. As Lucius returned to his dinner James pulled himself to his feet and exited to the hallway.

Draco’s face shone wet in the candlelight. His parents didn’t mention it.

***  
“I’m so sorry, Barnes! I didn’t think.”

“No kid. I was responsible for you. Your dad did what he thought he had to.”

“But he didn’t have to! He could have just told you, you’d have listened!”

Barnes sighed. “I’m a muggle, Draco. You and I, we get along. You're pretty great, kid. But your dad, he’s set, and he’s never going to see me as a person.”

“Are…are you going to leave? Go live with muggles?”

“And leave you here, alone, to become just like him?” He huffed an almost-laugh. “No way. No how. You’ve got potential, and you’re going to be better than him someday. Now. No offense, but I need to rest. You’d best go to your room.”

“Good night, Barnes.”

Draco quietly slipped through the door to his own room, and sat in the sofa by the fire. He thought, and thought hard. He thought of Father’s anger, and Mother’s fear. He thought of Harry Potter, and how the quiet boy reacted to touch. To noise. To food. He tried to think of all the things that hadn’t been said that day. New things, and old things he’d not paid attention to before. So deep in thought, he jumped when Dobby popped in to adjust the fire for the night.

“Dobby, I have a question.”

“Yes, sir, Master Draco?”

“If I give you a letter for a boy who lives with muggles, will you be able to take it to him when none of those muggles are around?”

“Yes, Master Draco! You needs only to ask!”

“Excellent. I’ll let you know when the letter is ready. And I forbid you from telling anyone about this. It will be kept between myself, you…and Harry Potter. You understand?”

Dobby’s eyes widened and he fell to the floor. “Of course Master Draco! Dobby understands! Dobby is proud to pass Master Draco’s messages to the great Harry Potter, sir!”

“Thank you, Dobby. You are excused.” Draco moved quickly to the desk and laid out a fresh piece of parchment. _Where to begin?_

**Author's Note:**

> Salaco means Bully in Latin.
> 
> Please note that, like in Madame Malkin's store, Draco isn't really looking at Harry. Harry is below him, and not yet worthy of a good look. Hence why he missed the telltale signs of the Boy Who Lived.


End file.
